


Dazzling

by rudbeckia



Series: Random Worlds [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, M/M, sexy sexy dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 20:06:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11448120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudbeckia/pseuds/rudbeckia
Summary: Ben is annoyed to find that his usual dance partner has been replaced with an irritating redhead.





	Dazzling

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired a bit by [this sexy dance](https://youtu.be/aPJVWw_OGg0)

Ben almost threw his dancing shoes across the dressing room. He scowled at his promoter’s ugly mug. “What do you mean I have a new partner? What’s wrong with Phas?”  
“Kylo,” the voice remained calm and a little condescending. “She’s taller than you even without heels. It looks odd. I found someone who will look good beside you. Miss Phasma understands.”  
Ben muttered under his breath but really he had no say in the matter at all. If he wanted to remain in _The First Order_ dance school, he would have to toe the line.  
“Fine. Whatever. Who is it? I hear good things about a kid called Rey. Is it her?”  
“Ah! No, we tried to capture her but she eluded us. She chose to partner Finn with _Rebel Moves.”_  
Ben cursed. “Traitor!”  
“Besides,” the gaunt, scarred face spoke again. “She’s a brunette. You’ll look much better with a redhead. He should be here for practice this afternoon.”  
“He?” Ben stared. His eyebrows shot up. “HE!”  
“Yes, the partner I have chosen for you identifies as male.”  
“But I thought the rules said—“  
“Not since last year. No more insistence on enforced gender stereotypes on the dancefloor. Did you miss that memo? Miss Phasma will partner Miss Umano this season.” A pause allowed the news to filter through Ben’s recalcitrant brain. “They will dance one of the best tangos I have ever choreographed. You and he will dance the rumba you have been practising so far with Miss Phasma.”

 _He_ was five minutes early. His professional manner and clipped voice irritated Ben to the point of actually growling.  
“Good evening. I am told you are my new partner. My name—“  
“Not quite,” Ben snapped at him. _“You_ are _my_ new partner. That’s how it works. I lead, you follow. You are my partner. My professional name is Kylo Ren, but I’m Solo.”  
“No wonder!” He smirked. “I’m Hux. Armitage Hux.”  
“Well, _Armitage,”_ said Ben with a sneer, “you better get your heels on. I know this routine and you better be able to keep up.”

It turned out that Armitage did know the routine and could keep up, even wearing kitten heeled, strappy sandals with his leggings. This revelation only made Ben more annoyed and he complained all evening, decrying loudly the tiniest flaws in Armitage’s technique. Secretly, he felt mean. Armitage was a responsive partner who coped with Ben’s calculated deviations from the original choreography, incorporating alterations seamlessly into his steps without fuss, without trying to steer Ben back to the routine. He was better than competent, better than good. He was an ideal dance partner.

“You’re a good lead, thank you.”  
“What?” Ben stared incomprehending at Armitage.  
“You. Good lead.” Armitage nodded, lips set in a line and eyes unreadable. “I know you were trying to throw me off, but you can’t help giving nonverbal cues. Your body language is quite clear.”  
“Oh? Well.” Ben scowled to hide his blush and waved for the music to start over. “Once more from the top.”

This time the floor of the rehearsal studio cleared as Ben and Armitage took up position, Ben just off-centre sitting on a stool, with his back to Armitage who posed a few steps away. When the first notes sounded, Armitage moved sinuously, snaking his way over to Ben, hips swaying in a show of rehearsed sexuality, stepping around him, hand out to touch his face and tilt his head. At that moment Ben sprang up as if the gesture brought him life and he skidded the stool across the floor to crash into the wall. They danced together, they danced apart, around one another, orbiting a common centre but always coming back to touch: a hand on shoulder or back, sometimes almost embracing with hips swaying synchronously and only a fraction of an inch of air between them, faces passing so close they might have kissed. Ben thought he led, but in reality it was the polyrhythm of the music that drove and they followed where it went. Armitage spiralled around Ben and folded in his arms, arching back and almost brushing fingertips on the floor, supported at the hip by strong hands, pulled up into a sensual embrace then pushed away to complete another circuit while Ben showed off his own flexible body.

Too soon it was over. They held their final pose long seconds after the end of the track, gazing back at one another from opposite sides of the dance floor, eyes locked, frozen until someone whistled long and low, and someone else sniggered. Ben shook out into his natural gait and walked to the water cooler. With a smirk, Armitage watched him go.

They had a week to perfect their performance before the first competition of the season, the _Galaxy Ballroom Latin Dance Festival._ It was a minor but essential step on their way to the World Championship: although both Armitage and ’Kylo’ were known on the international circuit, as a new pair they had to prove themselves worthy of a place on the dance floor. They practised daily. Every afternoon, to the delight of the rest of the dance school, Armitage and Ben danced their rumba, growing more confident with every figure-eight hip sway, growing more bold with every sensual touch.

Armitage’s costume arrived on the morning of the competition. He unwrapped it and shook out the lycra bodysuit matched to the tone of his spray-tanned skin and the wisps of sequinned silk that flowed from it. It was green and would make his eyes look green too. A quick try-on confirmed this. He was dressed to kill, and ‘Kylo’ had better be ready.

He was. Armitage had not expected to be _affected_ by Ben’s costume, but the sight of the tall, broad man in slacks that emphasised his waist and the curve of his arse, teamed with a sheer lace shirt that offered tantalising flashes of flesh underneath and showcased a deep vee of warm skin and muscle from the gold chain grazing his collarbones to… to… Armitage averted his eyes. Another dancer saw to Armitage's hair, coaxing it into style with wax and dazzling green glass gems. ‘Kylo’ simply braided a section of his mop to keep it from falling over his eyes and scrunched waves into the rest with mousse.  
“I can’t wait to see you two perform,” the young man confessed with excitement bubbling under his words. “You have the hottest routine I have ever seen. It’s like simulated sex on the dance floor. Do you feel like that too? I mean, does it turn—“  
“It’s an act, Dopheld.” Ben’s voice boomed across the dressing room and squashed Armitage’s mood. He gritted his teeth to hold back a sarcastic response but once Ben turned on the hairdryer and returned to preening himself, Armitage murmured to Dopheld, _”Good thing he can act like he’s not a complete wanker on the dance floor.”_  
Dopheld stifled a snort and grinned at Armitage in the mirror.

Armitage thought through their routine with his eyes closed to calm his anger while expert fingers worked on his hair. Ben’s comment had stung even though it was true. The attraction Armitage felt was likely a product of their act, their forced closeness and mock-sexuality on display for judges to pick over and grade. Ben was not his type. Armitage liked _nice_ men, men who would pay attention to his desires. He suspected that Ben paid attention mostly to himself and the thought made him snigger again. _Tosser. Wanker. Bet he’s never had a lover call him back. Bet he’s never had—_  
“You’re done!” Dopheld admired his handiwork for a few seconds then stepped back to let Armitage get up.

Armitage looked over at Ben and sneered. Tonight he would be the most ardent fake lover Ben had ever encountered, and ‘Kylo’ had better respond convincingly. Their place at the Worlds depended on it. He cornered Ben in the corridor as they made their way to the dance floor to tell him so. Ben glared in response as if insulted, then lunged forward and kissed Armitage hard, leaving him stunned and breathless.  
“Is that a good enough act for you?” Ben demanded. “Maybe if you actually try to convince me you’re my hot lover on the dance floor and not some cold fish I’ll let you fuck me in the dressing room afterwards.”  
They were called. Armitage _knew_ this was part of the dance, part of the act of convincing everyone that they could barely keep their hands off each other. But, dammit, it _worked._ Despite the spectators and judges and other dancers and the adhesive paper number plastered on his back, Armitage knew that he wanted Ben desperately, and Ben wanted him, at least for the next six or seven minutes.

Of course they won. The audience sat in rapt silence, leaning forward in their seats and, in some cases, shifting uncomfortably at the display that seemed almost pornographic in places. The judges gave them a score unlike any that had ever been seen by the dowdy glitz of the  _Galaxy_ and they walked off the floor to a standing ovation. Armitage blushed, glad that his outfit had loose folds of silk where it mattered. On one move, where he had been suspended off the floor, leaning backwards with his arse balanced across Ben’s hips, he had definitely felt that Ben was aroused and his own body had responded in kind.

Ben crowded him in the dressing room. “Still think I can’t fake it?”  
“You weren’t faking it, Ben.” Armitage grinned. “I turned you on.” Armitage gasped as Ben briefly palmed him through the tight fabric of his bodysuit, then he laughed. “Oh come on, half the audience got hard or wet on what we just mimed out there. I was balanced with my arse on your cock, remember? Impressive. Can you do that naked?”  
“Want to find out?” Ben leered at Armitage, and Armitage felt his face flame. “You _do,_ don’t you? You want to know how it would feel to rock there with my cock buried in your cute ass.” Ben let out a soft whimper as Armitage grabbed his arse with both hands and thrust their hips together.  
“Ah, hah. Yes. Yes I fucking well do,” admitted Armitage. “But not yet. After we win the World Championship.” He bit his lip and rolled his eyes when Ben shifted his hips and provided a second or two of delicious pressure. He could barely believe he was turning this down. “Imagine how hot our rumba will be by then!”


End file.
